


The Strange Case of Dr. Rush and Mr. Gold

by Stormcat385



Category: Jekyll & Hyde - Wildhorn, Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Belle French || Emma Carew, Dr. Nicholas Rush || Dr. Henry Jekyll, F/M, Jefferson || John Utterson, Killian Jones || Simon Stride, Lacey || Lucy Harris, Maurice French || Sir Danvers Carew, Mr. Robert Gold || Mr. Edward Hyde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormcat385/pseuds/Stormcat385
Summary: When respectable Dr. Nicholas Rush attempts to free mankind from its evil nature, he unleashes the darker force inside of him who takes the name of Mr. Robert Gold. Rush must find a way to rid himself of his evil altar ego before Gold destroys the life that Rush has created and the lives of everyone around him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In each of us, there are two natures. If this primitive duality of man—good and evil—could be housed in separate identities, life would be relieved of all that is unbearable. It is the curse of mankind that these polar twins should be constantly struggling... (Dr. Henry Jekyll, Jekyll and Hyde 1994)

The grimy streets of London held no mercy. In the day, they were lined with the faces of companions and partners, but when night fell, so did the masks of such friendly faces. Each man that one met on the street wasn't one man, but two. This game of pretend is what prevents the perfect society from taking place. This game of pretend is London's facade.

Doctor Rush straightened his bow tie as he stood outside the courtroom of St. Jude’s Hospital. Beyond the door were the people who held his career—his very future—in their hands. Perhaps he would have felt nervous if it wasn’t for his readiness to finally present his theories and serum to the world. The papers and beakers to aid in his explanation were in the suitcase he held.

The recording secretary opened the door and stood erectly. "Doctor Nicholas Rush, the board is ready for you,” he said flatly. Rush straightened his bow tie once more and followed the secretary into the room.

Inside the dark-walled room were lined six chairs, and in each chair sat a stern-faced Board Governor. Behind them, six massive banners hung on the wall, each a portrait of the governor it stood behind. Opposite them were benches to hold potential audiences. In this case, these benches were empty, as hardly anybody was willing enough to listen to Doctor Rush’s endless theories. The only chairs filled were the six chairs of governors, who they themselves would rather not have sat in. Least of whom, the recording secretary, who took his place at the wooden podium which was in line with the six chairs and closest to the door.

"The Board of Governors of St. Jude's Hospital is now in session," he declared. He gestured to a stout man in the first and closest chair who stood as he spoke, "Sir Maurice French, KBE, Chairman."

As the man sat down, the proud man next to him, robed in religious garb, stood and was announced as, "His Grace, the Bishop of Loxley, Robin Hood."

As he too sat down, the tall man to his left stood, his garment a glittering, white-and-gold hussar.

"General Prince David Charming."

When he was seated, the dashing man beside him stood proudly.

“Lord Sheriff Graham.”

The man at his left stood as he sat, whose hair was a fiery red and who wore a pair of small spectacles on his nose.

"The Right Honourable Sir Archibald Hopper, Q.C."

Unlike the men of the room, as the previous man sat down, the woman next to him, dressed in an incongruous black mourning gown, remained seating until her name was completely called. Only then did she rise to her feet and take the time to establish her importance by looking at each man in the room, lingering on the eyes of Doctor Rush.

"Lady Cora Mills."

With all six seated once more, the recording secretary—a handsome man, though seemingly unashamed of his unshaven face and pierced ear—glanced around smugly and seemed all too proud to announce himself, "The Order of business will be conducted by the Secretary of the Board of Governors, Mr. Killian Jones.”

Mr. Killian Jones shifted through his papers, reading aloud, "Proposition No. 929: Presented by Dr. Nicholas Rush." He casted a sideways glance at Rush and stepped away from the podium to let the doctor have his place. Disinterested and irritated murmurings rustled before the doctor began his speech.

"Distinguished Governors," began Rush, "I have glimpsed the future, seen miracles that stun the mind and marvels only science can find to shape tomorrow for mankind. And I can show them to you… if you wish me to."

Kneeling on the ground, Rush carefully opened his case and removed a test tube. "You are aware there are two sides to each of us: good and evil. If we could extract all the evil from each of us, think of the world we could create! A world without anger or violence or strife where man wouldn't kill anymore! A world of compassion, where passion for life would banish the madness of war!"

He held out the glass tube in his hands; a swirling mix of clear, green, and red liquids inside, each touching but never mixing. “I'm coming close to finding the key to duality: a chemical formula that could alter the patterns of man's personality, guiding him either to evil or good.”

After setting the tube back in his case, Rush stood up and spoke seriously. “Each of us is the embodiment of two distinct and opposing forces—Good and Evil—each fighting for supremacy inside us. If we could separate these two forces, we could control and ultimately eliminate all evil from mankind. My experiments with animals have led me to believe   
that the day is not far off when this separation will be possible. To achieve it, I must be allowed to try my formula on a living human being!”

A wave of grunts and disapproving cries rolled through the seated governors.

"Please, my friends!" Rush pleaded, regaining their attention. "There are doomed, broken souls in a thousand asylums! For one: my father, Malcolm Rush. He was a good and happy man until the shadow of insanity carried me away from him. Now his soul is lost somewhere while his body waits mindless in this very hospital! It is not only my duty as a doctor and a scientist but as a _son_ to help him regain his humanity. In the name of compassion and medical science, I can save many lives if you give me one man!"

The Bishop of Loxley stood defiantly. "I tell you now: the church will never sanction it!"

Sir Archibald Hopper stood as well, adjusting the spectacles on his nose and shrugging sympathetically. "You do seem to be treading on dangerous ground. In legal terms, I'd say it's unsound!"

"Doctor, you start playing with fire when you start to play God!" cried the Bishop.

Jones laughed in agreement and turned to the doctor. "The Bishop speaks for all of us when he says you're playing God! You’re a doctor not a saviour, Doctor Rush, for a start! But I judge from your behaviour you can’t tell the two apart!"

A silence befell the courtroom as Rush looked at Jones, his open mouth hanging onto an unspoken word. Sir Maurice stood and made his way to the doctor. He guided the younger man away from the Board and spoke to him quietly:

"Nicholas, I have always encouraged your enterprise—and I've been hopeful that you would succeed! But in the face of these powerful arguments, I see no choice but for you to concede."

"I know my fate is yours to choose, but if they win, the world lose!" Doctor Rush brushed past Sir Maurice and addressed the Board of Governors again. "I am on the brink of great success! I beg you, Governors, you must say 'yes!'"

The Board members stood in fury and voiced their disagreement, each talking over the other as Rush stood motionless.

"This is a hospital here to save lives!"

"Do you think we would let you play havoc with all the high principles for which it strives?"

"Nicholas, please open your eyes and see!" pleaded Sir Maurice, his voice lost on Doctor Rush through the ruckus.

"If you would only listen to me...!" Rush cried at the Board, shaking off the hand Sir Maurice placed on his shoulder.

"Doctor! Watch your tone!” shouted Killian Jones. “Save us your crocodile tears. Can't you see you're on your own!?"

Once more, the room was filled with various arguing before the loud pounding of Jones’ gavel sounded to regain order. “Order!” Jones declared. “I say order!”

As the court quieted, Rush cried sincerely. "If I ever needed further justification for my experiments, gentlemen, you have just provided it!" He took a deep breath. "Please, governors, here is the chance to take charge of our fate! Deep down you must know that tomorrow's too late! One rule of life we cannot rearrange: the only thing constant is change."

As the Board took their seats again, Jones held up his hand, a smile playing at his mouth. "Distinguished Governors, your verdict, please. All those in favour say 'Aye;’"—a long string of silence was drawn out—"All those opposed 'Nay.'"

Lady Mills, the first vote, declared, "Nay."

Sir Archibald Hopper shifted uncomfortably under the silent pressure of his fellow governors before reluctantly declaring, "Nay."

Lord Sheriff Graham uninterestedly answered, “Nay.”

General Charming, despite his fondness for the doctor, easily answered, "Nay."

The Bishop quickly sided. "Nay!"

Sir Maurice, whom the last vote waited on, sat in silence.

"Sir French?" urged Jones.

The man looked at the other Board members, at Mr. Jones, and at Doctor Rush. He sighed before stating quietly, "Abstain."

A smug grin on his face, Mr. Jones straightened, protruding his chest, and declared, "By five votes to none, with one abstention, proposition No. 929 is rejected." He stamped the proposition paper and, carelessly between two fingers, handed it to the doctor. "Thank you for your time, Doctor Rush," he sneered victoriously.

Turning on his heel towards the door, Rush flew from the room, threw the door aside, and stormed outside, the briefcase in his hand that once held his promise for the future swinging wildly. He sped past Jefferson, his good friend who had taken to waiting outside while the Board meeting was in duration.

In a choked voice of fury, Rush simply said, "They denied me!"

Jefferson jumped from his seat and quickened his pace to keep in step with his angered friend, just managing to pick up his long coat from the seat beside him and put a stabling hand on his large top hat before it blew off. "Everyone!?" he cried. "Even your father-in-law?"

" _Future_ father-in-law," Rush corrected over his shoulder, then shook his head. "He's still not fond of me, Jefferson." Rush stopped and turned to his friend. "Abstain. He voted abstain! He couldn't even find the heart to take sides."

"If he didn't vote against you, then he must not be against you!” Jefferson argued. “It's a start, Nicholas. No matter what Jones says, you've got someone on your side."

Walking on, Rush huffed exasperatedly. "That Killian Jones has been stepping on my coattails ever since I fell in love with Belle. I'm afraid I'm on my own on this."

"Nicholas." Jefferson grabbed his friend's arm and stopped him. "The life you’ve built for yourself is not worth this risk. You have come too far. Remember what you have at stake!"

"Jefferson, I know I am right. I must let my vision guide me! But I'm so weary of the fight. There's so little left inside me!"

Jefferson sighed, knowing he could not sway his friend. "Then, if you know that you are right, you've got to see it through."

As they took to walking once more, leaving the building, Rush reflected, "Seven years ago I started out on this alone, and now it's alone I'll see it through to its conclusion. Who are they to judge what I am doing? They know nothing of the endless possibilities I seek! It's ludicrous I'm bound by their decision!" Sighing frustratedly, Rush stopped to flag a carriage.

"Where are you going?" questioned Jefferson.

"I'm going back to my lab to continue my work. It seems that I'm the only one who is willing to help me with this experiment," answered the doctor bitterly.

"Good heavens, man, where is your head?” Jefferson exclaimed, watching in disbelief as Rush climbed into the carriage. “Have you forgotten about tonight?"

"Of course not. I'll remember to keep track of time." Rush closed the carriage door, spoke to the driver, and settled back into the chair. Jefferson tipped his large top hat through the carriage window and began his own way down the street opposite of Rush.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this took me so long to post. I hope you all enjoy anyway:)

That night, held in the glorious home of Sir Maurice French, was the engagement party for his only daughter. Despite his concerned questions and slight protests, she had accepted the proposal of Doctor Nicholas Rush. Yet while she stood radiantly at the top step of the grand staircase in full view of the main hall, her lace white dress glittering under the candle-lit chandelier, her husband-to-be was in the basement of his laboratory, all sense of time lost as he was enveloped in his work.

Taking up a beaker of red fluid, Doctor Rush poured it into a beaker of green and watched closely as the liquids mixed and became clear. A smile spread across his lips and he made a note in his journal, documenting the process. As he checked his pocket watch to document the time as well, he cursed under his breath. Hurriedly, the doctor traded his leather alchemy apron for his olive tailcoat and ran out of his laboratory and into an awaiting carriage.

Guests in the main hall mingled restively, awkwardly awaiting the tardy guest-of-honour. Belle French—soon to be Belle Rush—too, mingled in the main hall, smiling and thanking each guest for their presence but frequently looking over their shoulders to search for her absent fiancé. At a moment she was by herself and watching the door, a large figure stepped in front of her, blocking her view. His large build, unbuttoned collar, and tangible smell of rum greeted the petit woman, and she looked up to see the face of Killian Jones. She forced an even brighter, falsified smile as he took her hand and lengthily kissed her knuckles.

"Belle French, can this be you?” Killian Jones cooed as he lifted his head, flashing her a charming smile. “What a lovely sight. I trust you're doing well this evening."

Belle quickly returned her hand to her side and stood firmly. "I shall feel more at ease with my husband at my arm, but yes I have enjoyed myself."

Killian laughed uneasily. "Husband- _to-be_ ,” he corrected, “But I fear it is he that I must speak to you about." He gripped her arm and guided her away from the prying ears of gossip-loving aristocrats. "I fear for him, Belle. What kind of man have you taken? Can you not see the kind of life you will have if you take the doctor as your husband?” He motioned toward the hall door that continued to remain closed. “Always waiting and wondering, never knowing where he is or where he will go next?” Killian straightened and inhaled sharply, trying to maintain his charm but losing his patience. “It’s time to awaken before it’s too late and before you forever determine your fate.”

With a courteous but tight smile, Belle riposted, "Killian you know very well the rules of my engagement—both of the marital and literal kind: what I choose to do is decided by me. From the day my mother died, my father, though full of good intentions, has tried to offer away my hand. But it is only I who can offer away my heart. My father and I agreed, despite many other things, that when it comes to marriage, I shall pick whom I prefer. I am not the weak, young thing you're seeking, Killian. I am not a trophy to hang on your arm."

As if on cue, the hall doors bursted open with the sorely overdue doctor, still struggling to get his arm into the other side of his jacket. When the doctor’s eyes found Belle, he heaved a sigh of relief, a smile breaking over his breathless lips. Belle smiled, captivated and gazing at her dashing doctor. "I am complete. In Nick's eyes I see what I am meant to be."

Belle brushed past Killian, her discussion clearly closed, as Rush walked to her.

"Darling Belle," Rush said with a smile, taking her hands in his and kissing her on the cheek. "My, how enchanting you look this evening. I do apologise for my lateness."

Belle shook her head. "Nonsense. So long as you are here with me, time holds no concern." She pointedly turned and watched as Killian sulked away. "Nor with whom."

As they took each other's arms and moved to greet the guests, Rush laughed. "Was Mr. Jones bothering you, Miss French? I would be more than happy to dispose of him if you so wish."

"I am far better now with my fiancé by my side," she answered with a small giggle. "Come, let us greet our party guests."

As Sir Maurice took to a speech to congratulate the couple and gloat of his daughter, Jefferson found Rush, who had been hiding at the back of the room, walked to him, and hissed, "Nicholas! At last. What could possibly be more important than your own engagement party? I thought you said you would keep track of time!"

Despite his friend’s chiding, Rush turned to him with a smile, speaking in a hushed, awed whisper. "Jefferson, I am close to a breakthrough discovery! Something spectacular, something sublime! Finally, a light in the darkness has come to me! Now it is only a matter of time!”

Jefferson sighed and shook his head. "Nicholas, listen to me. You are soon to be a married man. You are respectable and well liked. I caution you: don't throw that all away!"

A guest approached Rush and began to speak with him, so he couldn’t reply, but a quick glance to Jefferson showed he was clearly unconvinced.

Within the next hour, the party had gone and Belle watched the midnight fireworks on Rush’s arm as they stood on the balcony. She beamed at the bright lights, but Rush could hardly lift his face.

“Nick? What’s the matter? You look gloomy as ever,” she inquired, brushing the hair fallen out of his ponytail away from his face to see his cloudy eyes. “Wasn’t your court trial for your experiments today? Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

Rush groaned brokenly, “It is exactly that which ails me, darling. They rejected my proposal; five votes to none.”

Belle shook her head firmly and put her hand on his arm, her eyes looking at him sincerely. “You can’t stop, Nicholas. You have to keep trying. After all the work that you have done, the end must be in sight.”

Distant fireworks filled their silence before Rush straightened his shoulders and set his jaw. “You are right. I must go on with the work I’m committed to. How can I not when my theories are true? And I will prove, if I’m ever permitted to, that things are not wrong just because they are new!”

“Nick,” Belle said as she held her fiancé’s face in her hands, “I adore you; I always have done and always will do. And your dreams are mine. I will always understand. However hard the path, our lives will intertwine!”

Rush grabbed her hands on his face and rubbed them with his thumbs, his eyes darting away quickly in his internal struggle. “Who knows where my work will lead me? It could be dangerous, Belle. I can’t risk you being in danger.”

“But, my love, I am not afraid.”

“The only thing to fear is the unknown!” Rush urged desperately. “And I do not know what this experiment will bring!”

With a patient sigh, Belle said, “When this all began, we knew there’d be a price to pay. It’s too late to turn away now; we have come too far!”

Rush leaned against the balcony railing and mused, “Sometimes I see past the horizon, sure of my ways and where I am going.” He shook his head. “But where’s the prize I have my eyes on? There is just no knowing. And when despair tears me in two,” Rush turned to Belle and gestured towards her, “who can I turn to but you? You know who I am, Belle.” Rush held his arms out in helpless surrender. “Take me as I am.”

Belle looked at her fiancé. “Look in my eyes, Nicholas. Who do you see there? Someone you know or just a stranger?”

Rush gave a weak laugh and shook his head.

“If you are wise you will see me there. Love is the only danger.” She took his hands and playfully spun around him. Rush failed to keep a straight face at her childlike playfulness and, with an easy laugh, joined her. Their laughter mingled and filled the night air as Belle cheered, “Love meaning me, and love meaning you! We’ll make that one dream come true! You know who I am; take me as I am.”

Though their spinning stilled, they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. Belle further reassured Rush, “Though fate won’t always do what we desire, still we can set the world on fire. Give me your hand; give me your heart.”

Rush begged, “Swear to me we’ll never part.”

Belle shook her head fervently and promised, “We’ll never part. You know who I am; this is who I am. Take me as I am!”

Rush let himself smile contently and kissed Belle lovingly, until Sir Maurice interrupted them with a smile and asked for a moment with his daughter to congratulate her. Rush nodded and took Belle’s hand, leaning down to lay a kiss on it.

“Goodnight, my angel,” he said adoringly.

As he stood upright, Belle pulled him closer to kiss his lips shamelessly and playfully replied, “Goodnight, my devil.”

They smiled and parted, Miss French to her father and Doctor Rush to his best friend.

“My friend,” Jefferson cheered with mirth as he took Rush around the shoulder and led his friend to a carriage waiting outside the French residence. “I believe the time has come for your wedding present.”

“And what might that be?” Rush asked warily as they settled into the carriage.

“The night of your engagement wouldn’t be complete without a bachelor party.” He turned and said to the driver, “To the Red Rat, please.”

Rush stared at his friend incredulously. “A strip club!?” he cried in horror.

“Of course,” answered Jefferson with an unsettling smile, but said no more.

Rush shifted uncomfortably in his seat and silently rethought his friend’s morality. He grieved the coming hours, knowing they could only end poorly.


	3. Chapter 3

The streets were lined with drunkards and the scum of London. The gentlemen exited the carriage and entered the Red Rat. It was a sleazy bar with red lighting, smoky air, and languid music. Jefferson led the way through the crowds and sat Rush at a table facing the cabaret stage. Women soon flocked to the two men, the women on Jefferson’s side playing with his top hat and tie and the women on Rush’s side stroking his tied hair and the sides of his glasses. With a strained smile, Rush brushed them off and they quickly left.

While Jefferson chatted with the ladies around him, Rush noticed a scene at the nearby stage door of the building. A brunette woman stood with her foot on a chair adjusting her stocking as another woman scolded her quietly. Rush was barely able to make out what they were saying.

“You can’t expect to arrive two hours late and not have him find you out! You’re gonna be in big trouble with the boss.”

“I can take care of myself, Ruby,” the woman barked quietly. Rush was startled at her accent, the only one like it he had heard belonged to Belle.

“If you get kicked to the street, it’ll be your own fault, Lacey,” spat the second woman before leaving her angrily. Rush watched as the young woman Lacey struggled to put on her silk gloves, dropping one in the process. Before she could reach down to retrieve it, Rush was out of his seat and picked it up for her, holding it out politely with a smile.

“My,” she said smoothly, “how kind of you, sir.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you looked like you could use some help,” Rush answered.

“That’s quite an accent you have there,” she jested. “Quite an accent, and quite a heart.” She fingered his chest above his heart and gently pushed him down into a chair, taking her own seat next to him. “What’s your name, brown-eyes?”

“Nicholas Rush,” he answered with a nervous laugh.

“Nicholas Rush,” Lacey enunciated. “I could use your help. You seem like a nice gentleman, so I need you to be honest. Look at me and tell me who I am—what I am. If you call me a fool, then a fool I will be.” She laid her hand on his thigh. “I can be yours if you say so.”

Respectfully, Rush removed her hand and held it for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he told her and drew his hand away.

Lacey laughed and adjusted the silk and lace layers of her dress. “It’s not everyday we have gents like you just dropping by. What brought you here?”

“My friend Jefferson thought it was a good idea to bring me here,” Rush answered, looking over his shoulder and finding Jefferson surrounded by five or six girls, seemingly enjoying the attention. “For my bachelor party.”

“You’re getting married?”

“In four weeks, to the most beautiful girl in this realm and the next,” Rush boasted with an earnest smile.

Lacey watched his face full of love and whispered to herself, “Lucky girl.”

Turning to her, Rush leaned forward and asked, “And what of you? How did you come to be in a place such as this?”

Lacey laughed. “I didn’t come here; I ended up here. But no matter how much I hate this place, I can’t leave.”

“Why is that?”

“Good and evil; men have argued through history, trying to be one or the other. But I have found it’s easier by far to be both. I’m here for the men that make me laugh and the men that make me sick. They break my heart yet make me whole.”

Rush frowned. “And yet I sense: there's more to you.”

With a laugh, Lacey flirted, “You flatter, sir. You really do.”

Sitting forward, Rush continued, “But wouldn’t it be better to be one or the other? To be good or bad? I may be able to help you.”

Her expression went cold. “I’m afraid you can’t. I am the only person whom I can count on.”

For a moment, Rush paused. He had suddenly found the answer to his experiment. “It seems we both have that in common.”

“Well,” began Lacey, “if there ever comes a time where you need someone, you know just where to find me.”

Rush stood to his feet and straightened his jacket. “It’s getting late. I should go.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his card. “If any time, you never know, you need a friend... Despite what you think, I may just be able to help you.” He passed over the card and Lacey took it. After she watched him herd Jefferson away from his admirers and exit the Red Rat, she read the card aloud quietly to herself.

“Dr. Nicholas Rush, 403 St George Street.” As she tucked the card into her dress, Lacey smiled honestly. “If any time I need a friend...”

 

“You seem in a better mood tonight,” commented Jefferson as Rush flagged down a carriage and climbed in with a smile on his face.

“My friend, you can still surprise me. I was certain this night would end nothing short of disaster. I would never have thought a breakthrough such as this would occur.”

“Breakthrough? What are you talking about?”

“I have found the answer to my problems: the subject for my experiment.”

“Good heavens, man! You can’t be thinking of testing on the woman you were with tonight, can you!?”

Rush waved him away with his hand. “No, Jefferson. Of course I wouldn’t.”

As they pulled up to Jefferson’s home, the man himself seemed reluctant to leave. Jefferson turned to his friend and said, “Nicholas, you must promise me that when you arrive home, you will go straight to bed.”

“I promise,” his friend answered.

Content, Jefferson nodded and left the carriage. When he was safe behind his front door, Rush leaned to the driver and said, “To my lab, please,” and sat back as the carriage began to ride.

Moments later, the carriage pulled up to his laboratory and he paid the driver. A powerful determination and resolve he had never had before was in his step. The gas lamp hanging above Rush’s worktable was lit, the flame reflecting in the multitude of glass vials. The doctor opened his journal and began a new entry:

_September 13th, 11:36pm  
I have started this alone and I must finish it alone. There is no longer a choice. I know that I must use myself as the subject of the experiment._

“You can’t be afraid now, Nicholas,” he told himself after a deep breath. “Now there is no choice. I must put aside the fears I feel inside; there’s no place to hide. So it comes to this: one great golden chance that only I can take. Now everything that I’ve fought for is at stake.”

Steadily, he dropped a cube of compressed carbon dioxide into a flask of green liquid. Fumes emitted and poured over the lip while Rush watched it closely. With another cube, he held a flask of red liquid and dropped it in. It bubbled furiously and the froth spilled over.

“Like a warning light glimmering in red, like crimson bloodshed, beautiful and strange...” he spoke to himself.

He set it down with a smile and set out an empty beaker. Taking the two flasks, one in each hand, he evenly poured the two together into the new container. As soon as they touched, the amalgam became clear. Rush smiled victoriously and looked through it at eye-level.

“See the colours change before my eyes. See how it dances and sparkles like diamonds at night, leading me out of the darkness and into the light.”

With a separate beaker, he poured a precise amount into it and held it before him. With bated breath, he opened his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp. It burned as it went down, making Rush reel and lean on his worktable for support. When it was successfully down and the pain had faded, he picked up his journal and made another entry.

_September 14th, 1:58am  
It is done. I have ingested 50 millilitres of the newly fused formula. A slight feeling of euphoria. Lightheadedness. No noticeable behavioural differences._

Rush laughed madly to himself and lifted his head with a smile. “I must be wise,” he told himself. “I must try to analyse each change in me and everything I see. How will it be? Will I see the world through different eyes? Now the die is cast; nothing left to do. Time alone can prove my theory is true! And finally I can show the world I—“

Amidst his celebration, Rush stopped and blinked. A small pain arose in his head; he figured he tied his hair back too tight so he let his hair out. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes in attempt to relieve the pain. The unknown pain increased and spread to his throat so he removed his bow tie. It further moved to his stomach, becoming sharp and excruciating, and he doubled over in pain.

“What is this? Something is happening, I cannot explain,” he gasped. “Something inside me! A breathtaking pain! Devours—consumes me! And drives me insane!”

His voice rose as he spoke and he cried violently in pain. He backed into his shelves of herbs and books. For a moment, the pain passed, but it soon returned and breathlessly he cried out. He reeled forward and weakly braced himself on his table.

“Suddenly uncontrolled; something is taking hold. Suddenly—agony! Filling me, killing me!”

He gasped for breath, unbuttoning the top of his shirt in hope to ease his breathing but to no avail. “Suddenly out of breath! What is this?! Is this death?!” He turned around and grabbed the small mirror hanging on the wall and held it in front of him.

“Suddenly—who can be? Can it be?” Rush peered into the mirror, but it wasn’t Rush looking back at him. His hair was long and unkept and his whiskey eyes were merciless. “Who is this creature that I see?”

Like an eclipsed sun, Rush felt himself become covered with an unknown conscience. His mind was still in control but his personality shifted into a man completely different than he. With a large breath in his lungs, the new mind of Nicholas Rush declared, “Free.” And laughed deeply.

This new mind took in its surroundings slowly. It felt his hands, face, clothing, tabletop. It spotted the open journal and its entry in small, neat pen scratch and, with grim humour, decided to write with sharp, pressed calligraphy:

_September 14th,_

It chuckled.

_...sometime after midnight_

_The experiment was a success. A few slight changes._

After the new mind had its laugh, it began to look around. A heavy brown trench coat was hung near the door of Rush’s lab. It traded the leather alchemy apron for this new coat. It was leather, embroidered with swirling designs and the tall collar was crocodile skin, the outermost edges seared brown and the centre a muddy orange. Next to the door was a gold handled cane, which it picked up as well. Through the door and into the cold night air of London the new man went. It smiled and smelled the air, something new and powerful flooding its veins.

“What is this feeling of power and drive I’ve never known?” it called into the night. While the doctor was known for his strong accent, the new mind that now overtook him had an even deeper, heavier Scottish brogue that could hold its own. “Where does this feeling of power derive? Making me know why I’m alive? Like the moon, it’s a secret: sinister, dark, and unknown. I do not know what I seek yet I’ll seek it alone!”

With a horrible, gleeful spirit, the man wandered the streets of London. The empty roads were lit only by occasional street lamps and damp from the drizzling rain.

“I have a thirst that I cannot deprive,” he continued announcing to the soulless night. “Never have I felt so alive! There is no battle I couldn’t survive feeling like this: feeling alive! I, like the moon: an enigma, lost and alone in the night, but blazing with light! That’s the feeling of being alive!“

A young couple turned onto the street on which he walked, enjoying an unsupervised night out. Upon seeing them, the man changed his course to intercept them. When they drew near, the couple unaware of his approach, the man stopped in front of them. They politely turned to the right to move around him, but he counteracted their step and blocked them once more. Again, he blocked them as they turned left.

“Sir,” remarked the young man irritably, “I kindly ask that you let us move by.”

In a moment, the young man’s throat was in his hand and the woman screamed.

“Run along, dearie,” spat the man, showing his teeth in a snarling smile. The poor woman turned to run away the way she came as his hand tightened to crush her lover’s throat. After a moment, the lover dropped to the ground, dead.

The murderer returned home, laughing the entire way back. As he entered Rush’s lab, he spotted the mirror once more. When he passed, he paused to gaze in and look at the golden tooth on the bottom row that his smile had uncovered.

“Gold...” he pondered. “Then that shall be my name: Robert Gold. This feeling of power, filled with evil but truly alive—this is the feeling of being Robert Gold!”


	4. Chapter 4

On the cold stone floor of his laboratory was where Rush awoke when morning came. He sat up, rubbed his joints and face, and looked around. On his shoulders was the leather coat Jefferson had gifted him years ago as a present for finishing his doctorate. What had compelled his friend to buy a coat so different from Rush’s personality was beyond him.

Rush slowly stood up, rubbing his head and eyes. His glasses sat on his work table where he had set them the previous night, and he went to retrieve them. As he put them on and tied back his hair, the events of the previous night came back to him.

His formula had worked.

Now he was alone in his laboratory, apparently free from whatever had possessed him last night. The evil inside of him which clearly took the name of Mr. Robert Gold was no longer in control. Could living a few hours in this horrid creature be the side-effects of this formula? But once those few hours were passed, was that the end of it? Was he free from his evil?

Rush grabbed his journal and read the last entry. “Whoever this ‘Gold’ is, he seems to have a sense of humour,” he commented. The incident with his other half came to him. The innocent man he had grabbed from the street had fallen at his feet lifeless. Gold had killed that man remorselessly.

Rush looked at his hands in horror and dropped the journal. He had been in complete control last night, but his conscience had changed into one that was free of guilt, even with blood on its hands. Rush ran to the door of his lab and locked it in fear of someone walking in and recognising him for his crime. Like a caged dog, he was trapped and couldn’t go anywhere. The only thing that promised his own saving was to further experiment on his formula. If he could make sure that Gold was gone for sure, he wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences the other man brought upon him.

However, as Rush continued to reflect on his time as Gold, he couldn’t help but remember how free his other persona lived. When he killed that innocent man, guilt didn’t cloud his mind. He could enjoy the feeling of rampaging the streets, terrorising the passerby’s, and acting cruelly without worrying about his highly-esteemed reputation being at risk. Rush was horror-stricken at his other conscience’s actions, however refreshing and enticing they seemed.

A week Rush remained in his laboratory, chained up by his own fear and addiction to further alter his serum. Only when he thought he was close to finding the ratio to be rid of Gold—or when the desire to be free of guilt became too heavy for him—did he change. At the end of his week of solitude, when he had remained Doctor Rush for two days soaking in his guilt, Jefferson had called upon him, knocking on his door and checking up on his poor friend.

“Where have you been!? Nobody has heard anything from you for a week! What has been going on Nicholas? You look like a fate worse than death.”

Shortly turning to look in the mirror, Rush saw his face: ghostly pale with dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve been working on my experiment,” he answered weakly, leaning heavily on the door.

“This is not the man I know!” Jefferson cried angrily. “There’s something deeply troubling you! How long do you plan to hide away here? This increasing isolation could endanger your career!”

Rush sighed and groaned. “Jefferson, I don't need you to turn on me as well! More than ever now I need a friend! Can't you see I’ve been through hell? Don’t condemn what you don’t comprehend.” He turned and walked into his lab and Jefferson followed him.

Controlling his anger and his voice, Jefferson inquired, “Nicholas, I’m not questioning your motives, but is what you’re seeking worth the price? You’ve turned your back on everything you once loved and you’re choosing to ignore my advice!” He took a step towards his friend. “It seems you have your work and nothing more. You are possessed! What is your demon? You’ve never been this way before! You’ve lost the fire you built your dream on. I see a change in you, Nicholas, it’s like when hope dies. I who have known you for so long, I see a pain in your eyes!”

Rush refused to look at his friend.

“There was a time you lived your life like very few did,” Jefferson continued, staying put. “You had it all! You seemed to know just what to live for! But now it seems you don’t at all! You have your work and nothing more!”

“Have I become my work?” Rush mused. “I know that’s not what I’m living for. I pray that I might find my way.”

“Belle and her father have been talking about you.” At this, Rush looked at Jefferson expectantly. “He fears that you’re in over your head, believing you’ve locked yourself in your own world perusing this insanity! But Belle has been there to defend you, to plead you have more time and to defend your name and your work. What about her? You’re getting married in three weeks! I pray you _do_ find your way!”

During his friend’s speech, Rush walked to his table and grabbed three bulky envelopes. As he returned, he held them out to Jefferson. “Then take these; give one to Belle and one to her father; the other is for you. If something happens to me...” Rush shook his head and muttered quietly to himself. “I will be fine, Jefferson,” he assured falsely. He took a sheet of paper from his worktable, wrote several things down, and held it out.

Jefferson took it and read it aloud, “‘Eleven grams of phosphorus, 25 grams of sucrose, 100 millilitres of ammonia...’ What is this?”

“They’re chemicals to improve my serum.”

Jefferson exploded hysterically. “Have you not caused yourself and those around you enough damage!? You need to stop this ridiculous fantasy and rejoin respectable society!”

“Jefferson, please don’t argue,” Rush pleaded tiredly. “I promise this should be the end of this dreaded experiment.”

With a furious huff, Jefferson shoved the list into his pocket and walked to the door to show himself out. Before he left, he commented spitefully, “It’s good to see that you’re putting the coat I got you to use,” and shut the door.

In a stunned silence Rush ran to the mirror and looked at his reflection. His hair was down and the crocodile skin coat was on his shoulders. His heart was seized with panic. Since two nights ago, Rush had returned his hair and coat to how he typically wore them and hadn’t touched the formula to change personas. That meant that the change had happened on its own, and that once more, one dreadful night, Gold had returned into the world. As he continued thinking about it, he could remember stalking the streets as Gold, his gold cane clicking against the stone roads as power and freedom pumped through his veins.

He had made his way to the Red Rat, a feeling of unknown desire pulling him there. As he approached, he saw his prize: Lacey Harris. She was wandering the street dressed in a red and black, silk and lace dress with a thin lace shawl over her shoulders. At a distance she saw him, didn’t recognise his face, dropped the shawl from her bare shoulders, and crooked her finger for him to approach. He did so gleefully and Lacey spoke to him as they approached each other.

“What’s your name?”

“Robert Gold,” he answered. She reached out to touch his coat collar when Gold grabbed for her when she was within reach. Lacey cried out in alarm, turning to run but he grabbed her by the arm and squeezed it tightly. Eventually, Lacey slipped out of his hold and ran, Gold only managing to catch her by her abandoned shawl.

With a malicious, toothy smile, Gold’s voice rang to the empty streets. “Animals trapped behind bars at the zoo need to run rampant and free. Predators live by the prey they pursue. This time the predator’s me!” he shouted victoriously. The shawl held in one hand, he smelt it and rubbed it against his cheek. “Lust like a raging desire fills my whole soul with its curse. Burning with primitive fire berserk and perverse! Tonight I’ll plunder heaven blind and steal from all the gods! Tonight I’ll take from all mankind and conquer all the odds!

“And I feel I’ll live on forever with Satan himself by my side! And I’ll show the world that tonight and forever the name to remember is the name Robert Gold!”

Presently, bringing Rush out of his horrid flashback, the door to his lab was met with a gentle knock. Rush cautiously opened the door to find Lacey Harris standing outside nervously.

“Lacey,” Rush remarked in surprise, “what can I help you with?”

She stood stiffly, her slender frame appearing quite small, and spoke with her voice low and soft. “You said you were a doctor when we first met. I need to make an appointment.”

Rush cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Of course, come in.” He stepped aside and let Lacey inside. She entered cautiously, one hand holding tightly onto the black shawl she wore around her shoulders and in the other his business card. “What can I do for you?”

“I had a fallout with one of my... clients,” she began. “He grabbed me and left a nasty bruise.” She turned her back to him and dropped her shawl, showing the dark purple bruises left on her arm. The amount of skin she showed was unheard of in the high-class society in which Rush resided and it caused him to freeze nervously. However, swallowing to wet his dry throat, he averted his eyes and pulled over a chair for her to sit in and a stool for himself.

“Please, sit down. I’ll fetch some cream and bandages for that,” he said and left as Lacey sat down, looking around at his lab. She watched him search his drawers for the right materials, overwhelmed by the amount of compassion and kindness that he brought with him wherever he went.

“Sympathy, tenderness: warm as the summer offer me their embrace,” she wondered silently to herself. Rush returned to her with a tin of cream, a roll of bandages, and a sack of cold water. “Friendliness, gentleness: strangers to my life; they are their in his face.”

As Rush gently applied the cream to her bruise, Lacey watched his face as he worked. He was honest and earnest; warm and compassionate; loving and real. At the Red Rat Lacey had never met a soul like his, and the fantasy of a gentle man whisking her away from that terrible place had been smothered by the greedy, merciless hands of heartless clients. To her, Rush was a dream that she dared never to wish for. Even when they first met, she told herself that it would be best to stay away from him to avoid that hope from returning, however she couldn’t help but follow the warm light that he offered.

Lacey continued to think to herself, “I am in love with the things that I see in his face. It’s a memory I know time will never erase.”

Rush began to wrap her arm gently. “Did you recognise the man who did this to you?”

“He said his name was Robert Gold,” she answered. For a moment, Rush panicked, guilt-stricken, but eased when Lacey continued, “I had never seen him before.”

“Well this should help the bruise to heal quicker.” He pressed the leather sack of iced water against the bandage. “Keep this against the bruise for ten minutes at a time—no longer. After several days you should be fine to remove the bandage.” He picked up her hand to press it over the sack, their hands holding each other’s for a moment.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” Lacey whispered breathlessly. In a spur of compassion, Lacey leant forward and kissed Rush, their lips brushing gently. He sat stiffly as Lacey pulled away, and afterwards he excused himself quietly to return to his worktable. The tense moment of silence eased as Lacey left his laboratory and closed the door silently. Under the night sky, Lacey mused as she walked.

“I peer through windows and watch life go by. I dream of tomorrow and wonder why. The past is holding me, keeping life at bay. I wander lost in that moment, wanting to fly but scared to try.” She looked back at Rush’s lab, imagining the kind man sitting underneath the warm light of his abode. “But if someone like you found someone like me, then suddenly nothing would ever be the same. My heart would take wing! And I’d feel so alive if someone like you found me!”

Lacey took to a run, racing through the streets with a smile on her face. Her heart was bursting with joy she hadn’t felt in years. “There are so many secrets I’ve longed to share. All I have needed is someone there to help me see a world I’ve never seen before; a love to open every door! To set me free so I can soar!”

Despite her heart guiding her feet on her passionate run, she was brought back to a dreary, dank street. The Red Rat stood at a distance, it’s hazy red light laughing at her. She couldn’t escape it, but with Rush’s kind eyes and heart in her memories, she knew she could get through each day a little easier.

The door to the Red Rat creaked when she entered, keeping the cold sack pressed against her arm and straining to keep every memory of his touch in her mind. When she checked that she was alone in the room, she said aloud to herself, “Nothing would ever be the same. My heart would take wing... and I’d feel so alive if some like you... _loved_ me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Only the brave few walked the London streets after midnight. Gold was one of those few. Under the shadow of the church’s side entrance he waited for the Bishop of Loxley to emerge from his sanctuary. Three people exited the building: a scrawny man with a dead eye, a young woman with raven hair, and the Bishop himself. After exchanging a handful of coins, Gold could hear the Bishop say, “Thank you for letting me see her. I trust you when you say word won’t get out about this? The Bishop having an affair on his wife?”

The shady man—some have been known to call him the Scarlet Spider—answered in a low-class accent, “Nobody will know, I’ll make sure of it. Regina’s a heartbreaker, but she’s not a snitch. Your reputation is intact, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” he said and the two groups parted. The Bishop couldn’t help but continually glance over his shoulder to check for watching eyes. While his head was turned, Gold stepped out in front of him. When he bumped into the man, he cried out in fear.

“Oh good gracious, sir, you startled me.” He laughed nervously with a hand over his heart. “How may I help you? Do you need to confess something? If you follow me inside I would be more than happy to bring your requests to God.”

“Oh, it’s not me who needs to confess,” Gold stressed with smile, his hands folded on his cane handle in front of him.

The Bishop frowned and leaned forward to catch Gold’s oddly coloured face in the light. “Do I know you?” he wondered. “Who are you?”

Bringing up his cane and holding it by the stick, Gold inspected the handle. “You might call me a fallen angel,” he answered before bringing the cane against the Bishop’s arm. He cried painfully and fell against the church wall. Gold laid another hit to his shoulder.

“Why are you doing this!?” cried the Bishop as Gold lifted his cane for a third blow.

Gold grabbed the man by his robe and pulled him close to his face. “Because you made me.”

The black, silent night was disturbed by the painful screams of the Bishop as Gold continued to beat him with his cane. After several minutes, Gold stood back from the bleeding, beaten corpse, tucked his cane under his arm, and quietly walked home.

Every headline for miles outside of London had the same story as their headline. Newsboys cried the story on every street, “Read about the hideous murder! Profane religious murder! That poor old Bishop, what a shock!”

As Rush headed back to his laboratory with a box of new chemicals tucked under his arm, he was disturbed as he heard people discussing the story. The memory of his alter ego’s actions had eluded him overnight.

A woman distressfully read lines from the paper, “Seen walking with his daughter a moment prior to slaughter.”

Another man, a hand over his heart, nodded in agreement. “The shepherd tending to his flock.”

Yet another man read aloud, “He died in a London slum a slave to martyrdom! He died without complaint!”

A woman sighed woefully and lamented to her husband, “He should be made a saint.”

“He’s gone back home to God,” whispered the crowd as Rush passed through them. “It all seems very odd. Why should it be—this mystery? It’s a murder!”

“Excuse me, boy, I’d like a paper, please,” Rush said to a newsboy. He traded five pence and quickly took the paper, dismissing the boy to keep the change. On his brisk return to his lab, Rush read through the paper. It was true that he had never been fond of the Bishop, but he was slightly marred that someone would go so far as to murder him.

When he was safely behind the door of his lab and set down his chemicals, Rush read aloud to himself, “ _Bishop sighted from an anonymous source parting with his daughter after they both left the church. An unknown man approached him, exchanged words, and then proceeded to beat him to death with a gold-tipped cane. Subject was wearing a long coat with long hair..._ ”

In stunned horror, Rush dropped the paper. For a long time he stood in silence, reflecting on what Gold had done—what _he_ had done. Rush understood the grudges that he himself held against the Bishop—for one, denying his proposition and sending him on this self-destructive path—but there wasn’t a reason he could think of that would give Gold justification for his crime. After all, it was the Bishop’s denial that sent Rush on to create his counterpart. Shouldn’t Gold be rejoicing over him?

Unless...

An hour passed as Rush turned over the thought in his mind. He refused to admit it was the truth, but after viewing it from every angle, he concluded that the truth was the only thing it could be. From the beginning, his experiment was to move all of the evil inside of him into a new personality: one without guilt, a good conscience, or clear reasoning. The deep desires and hatred that took place in Gold were the same ones that took place in Rush. In other words, Rush wanted the Bishop dead, so Gold killed him.

As the full force of the realisation hit him, Rush cried out despairingly, collapsed onto the floor, and pulled at his hair. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and wept. The world around him collapsed in on himself as it became endlessly darker. The voices in his head grew louder and condemning as he became mad with hopelessness from the horror of the blackness in his heart.

It was in that moment of vulnerability when Gold took over again.

When nighttime came two days later, just before the street lamps had been lit, Gold watched and listened to Sir Archibald Hopper exchange anxious words with General Prince Charming.

“If whoever killed the Bishop of Loxley is still on the loose, and his target is high-class citizens—or people in power, I advise you to keep to safe roads. Or to get inside by nightfall. Or to stay inside—!”

With a hand on Hopper’s shoulder, Charming said with an easy smile, “I appreciate your concern, Archie, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Hopper nodded uneasily and unconvinced but parted with the stubborn Prince. The proud man continued walking the night street now lit by gas lamps. He stood tall and readied his hand on his sword as he heard footsteps following him. When they approached too closely, he turned around, drew his sword, and swung it down on his stalker. Within a moment, Gold stopped the sword’s blow by catching the blade between his hand and thumb and laughed shrilly.

“Well there’s no need for that, dearie!” he twittered.

Wide-eyed, Charming asked, “Who are you?”

“I have a message,” Gold answered, tossing away the tip of Charming’s sword, “from your higher-ups.”

“What do they say?” Charming pressed warily.

“Well, I am happy to inform you that you are relieved of your duties.” Charming furrowed his brows. “All of them.” The sword clattered to the stone pavement as Gold seized Charming by the throat and lifted him in the air. Gold soon dropped him and scooped up the fallen sword, standing above Charming as he choked and coughed for air. “Long live the Prince,” Gold smiled cruelly and drove the sword through Charming’s back, cracking the stone underneath, and further driving it into the pavement. The Prince gasped, and after a moment, slid to the ground with his eyes still open. The once pure-white hussar he wore slowly became crimson-stained. When Gold disappeared under the shadow of an alleyway, two men had already found the body.

The next day passed as the streets filled with murmured discussions of the two murders.

A man pointed to the paper and nudged his friend. “Look at this: another murder just like that other murder. That poor old General Charming dead!”

His friend shook his head. “Last week the Bishop copped it. The bloke that done it hopped it. The fellow must be off his head!”

More people discussed it amongst themselves. “That’s two in the last four days. This killer has fancy ways!”

“He hates the upperclass! Who could he be?”

As the moon rose the next night and shone dully behind the clouds, Lady Cora Mills angrily dismissed the warning words of Archibald Hopper, telling him to leave her alone and chirp in somebody else’s ear. He hurried away with a huff and left her alone. She walked under her black parasail with a rich, diamond necklace sparkling against her black mourning dress.

“Cora, my love, you really should be more careful wearing your real diamonds out on the street. You I never know whom you might encounter,” Gold hummed playfully as he appeared from the shadows in front of her. In his hand he held Charming’s sword that he had gone back to collect after the crime scene had been cleared.

Lady Mills stopped abruptly and called out, “Who are you?”

“Tell me, is there a Lord Mills?” he continued.

“He died... forty years ago.”

“Sensible fellow,” Gold muttered under his breath.

“How dare you! Such impertinence!”

Gold gaped and mocked shock, touching his hand to his chest.

“What do you want?” Lady Mills demanded.

“Well, to be honest, I did want you dead. But hey! disappointment’s just part of life. I’m sure we can agree on that.”

In furious silence, Mills stepped around him and continued walking down the street. Gold caught her by her wrist and stopped her. As she looked into his eyes, large and amber as they were, she was startled, for a moment she thinking she recognised those eyes.

“Before you leave, let’s seal it like we used to,” he said.

“‘Used to?’ What are you talking about? Seal what?”

With her hand still in his, Gold pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. She thrashed against him and he dropped her to the ground.

“Your death,” he answered down to her. He raised the late Charming’s sword and brought it down over and over. The next morning Lady Mills’ body was found hacked to pieces. Her black dress was left bloody and her parasail was broken, yet the diamond necklace she wore was clean and untouched.

The following day Gold mixed up a lethal concoction using his counterpart’s laboratory and chemicals before his next victim. His target, Lord Graham, was at his house that was nestled next to the woods. When nighttime fell, the man was sitting outside in front of a fire with a cup of tea and gazing at the forest in front of him. Several wolf howls were heard and he smiled in satisfaction. The wind blew hard and dimmed the fire so Graham set down his teacup and got up to put it out, figuring it was time to head inside for the night. While his back was turned, Gold crept up behind him and dripped the cocktail into his cup. He quickly disappeared before Graham returned.

From behind the trunk of a tree, Gold watched as Graham, in one swig, finished his tea. He began walking to the door of his house, but before he could touch the handle, he doubled over and fell into the muddy grass dead.

Over the bridge leading out of town the next night, Sir Maurice ran into a hysterical Sir Archie Hopper on the brink of tears carrying two large bags full of his clothing and belongings.

“Good heavens, Archie, are you alright?” Sir Maurice cried. “What is the matter?”

“They’re all dead—all of them!” he anguished. “He’s after me next! I’m leaving town. I don’t know what you’ve heard, Maurice, but I did everything I could to save the others. I tried to warn them!”

Sir Maurice hushed his cries pityingly. “I believe you, Archie, but as far as I’m concerned that’s a matter between you and God.” He sadly gripped his friend’s shoulder and nodded encouragingly. “Have a safe journey. Goodnight, Archie.”

The two men parted ways and Sir Archie once more bumped into another man. He looked up flustered to find the toothy grin of an unknown man.

“Bad news from God, Archibald,” Gold growled. He grabbed the frightened man’s throat and threw him over the ledge of the bridge. Sir Archie’s body was later found floating lifeless in the Thames.

News exploded at the end of the week. Five murders within eight days was all anyone talked about on the streets. The town whispered anxiously in one voice:

“Read about the worst three murders, much worse than the first two murders! That makes it murders four and five!”

“They’ve murdered dear old Cora. I hear extremely messy!”

“Lord Graham died before his door!”

“And poor old Archie is no more!”

“They say there’s lots of blood and gore!”

“That’s five in the last eight days. It’s London’s latest craze! This time he was in Perk Lane and he may come back again!”

“Until the killer’s found there’s danger all around! What can we do? We wish we knew!”


	6. Chapter 6

During this time, after the many pleads from Belle’s father for her not to go seeking out Rush when there was a murderer at large—and after waiting two weeks for her fiancé to return like the dutiful woman she was and not seeking him out—Belle had had enough. She ordered a carriage to take her directly to her fiancé’s laboratory.

Everyday since his sudden vanishment she had visited his home and waited for him to answer the door, but after no answer, figured he was at his lab and she shouldn’t bother him. Without bothering to knock, Belle tried the handle and opened the door when she found it unlocked. The laboratory was empty except for a few bubbling beakers, Rush’s open journal, and herself. Belle approached the worktable and picked up his notebook. It was open to the latest entry that read:

_September 28th, 4:12am  
I feel that there is no end in sight. I am finding it harder and harder to stay in control. Who knows how many more experiments it will take in order for me to be rid of this dreaded Robert Gold?_

Belle screamed when the journal was snapped shut and ripped out of her hands. She looked up and saw the sickly face of her fiancé.

“Nicholas, what happened to you? You look simply awful,” she cried. Nicholas leaned away from the hand she brought up to touch his face. His shirt and vest were wrinkled and half of his hair was falling out of his ponytail.

“I’ll be fine soon enough,” he answered dryly and tossed his journal onto his worktable as he walked further into his lab.

“Who is this Robert Gold that you wrote about in your journal? You never mentioned him before.”

“He’s my... partner... for my experiment.”

“You don’t seem too fond of him.”

“I’m not.”

“Well can’t you get rid of him? This is your experiment and if you don’t want him there to help you he shouldn’t have the power to stop you.”

“I can’t do that, Belle!” Rush shouted, bringing his hand down on the table. Belle stood in shocked silence. “He seems determined stay with me to the end of this forsaken experiment.” He pushed off of his table and turned away.

Belle stared at Rush in confusion and watched his back take heavy, ragged breaths. “What happened to you, Nick? Where is the life and the spirit you once had? This experiment was once the joy of your career and now it sounds like you’re doing everything you can to get rid of it.”

Rush collapsed in a chair across from Belle. He buried his face in his hand and couldn’t raise his head to look at her. His hair fell like curtains over his gloomy eyes. The beaten, sorrowful man Belle saw seated in front of her couldn’t be the man she encouraged to keep working two weeks prior. Yet the same powerful and earnest force had fallen into the form of a miserable, lonely creature with seemingly no place left to turn to.

While Rush sat sadly in his chair, Belle reflected to him, “When this all began we knew there’d be a price.” She heard him sigh but he didn’t look up. “Once upon a dream we were lost in love’s embrace. There we’d found a perfect place. Once there was a time hope was still an open door. You told me the only thing to fear was the unknown but I was unafraid. This dream of yours was so exciting! But now I see it fade and I am here alone.”

Rush finally looked up at her and she made her way to him. She walked behind his chair and gently slid her hand onto his shoulder. “Once upon a dream you were heaven-sent to me, Nicholas.” With another sigh, Rush melted at her touch and softly grabbed her hand.

She walked around and knelt down in front of him, “Was it never meant to be? Was it just a dream?” When his face fell with guilt, Belle lifted it up with her fingers underneath his chin, her eyes shimmering with hope. “Could we begin again?”

In the silence, Rush nodded and let himself cry with Belle to wipe his tears.

Through his choked voice he whimpered, “I love you, Belle.”

Belle gathered Rush in her arms and kissed him longingly and lovingly. Before she left, at the door she turned to him once more and said, “When you need me... _if_ you need me... you know where I’ll be.”

Belle left the laboratory to its silence. After several minutes of weighted tension between Rush and his dormant alter ego, he quietly groaned as he stood up to stand at his worktable. His journal, flasks, and beakers sat forgotten, a sad echo of the beacon of hope that they used to be. He opened his journal and wrote a new entry.

_September 30th, 6:50pm  
The experiment is out of control. The transformations have started to occur on their own accord. I must try to find the way to drastically alter the formula that controls the darker, more sinister forces at work inside me. I know well that I risk death..._

The entry was interrupted and Rush jolted when the door to his lab was thrown open. Jefferson stormed in with a letter in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he shouted furiously. “The letters you gave me, and instructed me to give to Belle and her father, are your will! What is going on Nicholas? Who is Robert Gold? It says here that ‘He is to have full control of all my assets, and my salary and bank account is to be transferred to him upon my death.’ You’re giving everything to this man! How long have you known him? Why have I never met him!?”

Rush sighed wearily and tried to explain, “He’s my colleague involved in my experiment. That’s all I can tell you. I beg you, Jefferson, please be patient with me. I hope for both of our sakes that it does not come to leaving Gold my fortune, but I must be prepared for all possible outcomes. Have you gotten the chemicals I asked for?”

“I have two more to acquire. I’ll deliver them later tonight. I hope you know what you’re doing, Nicholas,” he said sympathetically. Once again alone in his lab, Rush thought to himself.

“What streak of madness lies inside of me?” he pondered. He began to see the truth: Gold was a part of him. As wicked and horrid as he was, Gold shared the same desires as Rush. “What is the truth my fears conceal? What evil force makes Robert Gold of me? What darker side of me does he reveal?

“What is this strange obsession that’s tearing me apart? Some strange, deranged expression of what’s in my heart?” Rush walked to the mirror on the wall and stared at his face. “Am I the man that I appear to be? Or am I someone I don’t know? Is there some monster drawing near to me? Becoming clear to see? Will what I fear to be be so?”


	7. Chapter 7

After hours in the Red Rat was when the girls working there could drop their masks. Lacey and Ruby sat at the bar, each with a drink in their hand. They sat discussing the life they were trapped in.

Ruby mused, “When the party’s over, and everybody’s gone away, we stare at an empty day—what is there to do or say?” She laughed distastefully and threw back her head as she swallowed the rest of her drink. She then poured herself another glass.

Lacey sat with hers in front of her, half finished. “Somehow I know there’s a someday that’s just for me. Everybody has a someday... so why not me?”

“Lacey, do you really need to fill your heart with empty dreams? You’ll always be what you are. Stop chasing that distant star! Nighttime is where we live. Forget your hopes or you’ll be misled! With the dawn they disappear—“

“Then why are mine still here?” Lacey interrupted. She sighed angrily.

“To the girls of the night?” Ruby asked after a moment, holding up her drink.

“To the girls of the night,” Lacey agreed, raising her glass and tapping it against her friend’s. She quickly downed the rest of her drink, cringing as she swallowed.

“Lacey,” someone called. The girls turned around. The Scarlet Spider stood at a distance with a dark man waiting behind him. “You have a client.”

The Spider beckoned Ruby to him and left the woman and her client alone. With a smile, Gold approached her.

“Lacey,” he purred gravelly. “You’re looking better than when we last met.”

“You mean after you clawed me, stole my shawl, and gave me a nasty bruise?” she snapped back.

Gold clicked his tongue. “Well in that tone of voice I suppose you should be happy to know that I’m going away for a while. I have a dispute to settle with my... partner. I shouldn’t be too long, depending on his actions. But...” He approached her and trapped her against the bar with his arms on either side of her as his eyes bore into her. His voice dropped as he commanded quietly, “...God help you if you aren’t waiting for me when I get back.”

Lacey laughed bravely, brushing away his arms and walking past him. “What would I be doing leaving here? This place is all I have. Rest assured, you won’t find me anywhere but here when you get back.”

Gold smiled triumphantly. “Good.” While her back was to him, Gold gazed at her bare shoulders. He slowly approached her and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her muzzy perfume. His hands rested on her shoulders, a silent but strong grip keeping her under his control.

Lacey found no other way to escape him than to forfeit completely. “I feel your fingers cold on my shoulder; your chilling touch as it runs down my spine.” She turned to face him. His eyes hid a vigorous fire behind them. “Watching your eyes as they invade my soul; forbidden pleasures I’m afraid to make mine.”

Lacey walked around him, his eyes following her, as she continued. “At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine I am losing my mind, I am losing control fighting feelings I can’t define.”

As she circled him, Gold slowly turned on his heels to watch her. “It’s a sin with no name,” he said.

“Like a hand in a flame,” she added.

“And our senses proclaim it’s a dangerous game.” Gold suddenly grabbed Lacey’s waist, drew her flush against him, and began to dance with her around the Red Rat as he said, “A darker dream that has no ending, that’s so unreal you believe that it’s true! A dance of death out of a mystery tale.” As he wrapped her arm around herself, he pulled her tightly against him so that her face was close to his. “The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do.”

They spun out and began to walk around each other, Gold’s hand on Lacey’s waist and Lacey’s hand on Gold’s shoulder.

“Will the ghosts go away? Will she will them to stay? Either way there’s no way to win.” Gold kept his eyes locked onto Lacey.

“All I know is I’m lost and I’m counting the cost,” Lacey said to him. “My emotions are in a spin. I don’t know who’s to blame!”

“It’s a crime and a shame.”

“But it’s true all the same: it’s a dangerous game!”

Lacey pushed Gold away from her and walked away, making her way and weaving in between the chairs and tables in front of the stage. From across the room, Gold followed her movements closely.

“No one speaks, not one word,” they said. They turned to look at each other from across the room. “But what words are in our eyes!”

“Silence speaks loud and clear,” Lacey declared with Gold echoing her words.

“All the words we don’t want to hear,” she said.

“All the words we _do_ want to hear,” he corrected.

“I am losing my mind! I am losing control fighting feelings I can’t define! It’s a sin with no name!” Lacey cried as they began to walk towards each other to the centre of the room.

“No remorse and no shame; fire, fury, and flame!”

“Cause the devil’s to blame! And the angels proclaim—!”

Once they met in the middle, Gold grabbed the back of Lacey’s neck and kissed her forcefully. She gripped his coat tightly and requited his passion for several moments. They slowly parted, their breaths mingling and their faces only inches apart.

“It’s a dangerous game,” Gold whispered. He walked around her, paused by the door to drop several coins into the hand of the Scarlet Spider—who had been standing in the shadow next to the door and watching from where he was—and left the Red Rat. When he left, Lacey slowly sat down and chose to await Gold’s return.


	8. Chapter 8

Shortly after Gold entered Rush’s laboratory, the door opened behind him and Jefferson walked in. He carried a small crate of glass bottles and small pouches full of the chemicals for Rush.

“I’ve acquired the last of the chemicals you had asked for, Nicholas. I pray they help you end your cursed torment—who are you?” Jefferson stopped and called after seeing the back of an unknown man instead of his dear friend.

Gold slowly turned around, easing his face into the light. For a moment, Jefferson gaped at his face, so similar to the friend he was looking for, but also twisted with a hidden malice and hatred and so unlike any face he had ever seen.

After a moment, “I asked you a question,” Jefferson stated firmly, gripping his swordstick and readying to draw it.

“Where are my manners? We haven’t been properly introduced.” With a flourishing bow, he announced, “Robert Gold.”

“What are you doing here? Where is Doctor Nicholas Rush? This is his laboratory.”

“The doctor is... unavailable tonight. You can leave whatever you have there with me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“I’m not leaving this package in the hands of anyone but Nicholas. Where is he? I demand you tell me!”

Gold smiled and chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jefferson took a step forward, swordstick half-drawn. With a low voice, he demanded, “I insist on seeing my friend. If you do not tell me where he is, I will alert the police.”

Jefferson’s relentless persistence raised Gold’s anger and he grew impatient. Seeing nowhere else to go, Gold lunged at Jefferson and shoved him against the laboratory wall. Clutching the chemicals tightly, Jefferson kicked Gold away and quickly drew his swordstick. As Gold rose from the ground and went forward for another attack, the tip of Jefferson’s sword touched Gold’s shoulder. With a low growl, Gold eased back and stayed on his knees.

“Where is Nicholas Rush?” Jefferson asked once more.

“You want Rush?” Gold snarled, hitting the flat of the blade away with the back of his hand. He stood up, walked to the worktable, poured himself a glass from one of the beakers, and drank it in one gulp. “See your dear friend!” he roared and erupted with laughter.

The man reeled backwards, his laughter mixed with cries of pain, and fell to the ground against the cabinets lining the wall. Soon the laughter left his voice and all that was left was a painful cry. Like a veil being lifted, Jefferson saw the evil and hatred leave his face and become the recognised features of Nicholas Rush. The doctor sputtered, coughed, and groaned.

“Nicholas?” Jefferson gaped. “What is going on?”

Reaching for the countertop behind him, Rush heaved himself onto his feet, took one step toward, and collapsed once more, managing to catch himself on his worktable.

“I don’t understand,” Jefferson said. “What is going on here? Who was that man? It wasn’t you, my friend, I’m sure of it. However, my eyes tell me that those were your features. But it couldn’t be! His face was so distorted with something I can’t explain! He was ugly and inhuman but I can’t give an explanation as to why I think that!”

“Jefferson, Gold must be destroyed,” Rush panted weakly. “He’s taken so many lives—including mine—and I can’t allow him to continue any further. I must say, I do believe you’ve brought those chemicals just in time.”

Leaning heavily on the workspace, Rush limped to his coat rack, where there hung his olive tailcoat. He dug through the inside pocket and pulled out his wallet, removing a generous portion of his money and, after tying back his hair and putting on his glasses, began working on a note.

He said whilst writing, “I must ask you for one more favour: you must take this money and deliver it to a woman named Lacey Harris. She works at the Red Rat. Please, I beg you, deliver it to her tonight. Make sure that it makes it into her hands.”

Concealing the money and note in an envelope, Rush held it out to Jefferson. After setting the chemicals down on the counter, Jefferson took the envelope and uneasily made his way to the door.

“Jefferson,” Rush called once more. His friend turned to him, an anxious, worried expression on his face. “Don’t tell anybody about what you’ve seen,” Rush said, his voice quiet and calm, but urgent. “No one must ever know.”

From all he had seen, Jefferson wouldn’t know how to retell the tale to anybody else. He gave a small nod, knowing for certain that he had lost his friend, and left the laboratory.

Rush set to work immediately. He removed several chemicals from their crate and set them out. As he was mixing two of them together, he spoke desperately to himself.

“Somehow I have to get back to the place where my journey started: find the course I charted when I first departed! Somehow I have to hang on to the vision that first inspired me: to the hope that fired me, when the world admired me!”

He set the new concoction down and searched for another chemical in the crate. When he found it, he uncorked it and poured it into the beaker he had just set down. The liquid began frothing and Rush took a step back, impatiently waiting for it to calm back down before he could continue his work.

He spoke breathlessly as he waited, “I’ll find my way back to the higher ground and see the view I saw before. I’ll search the world until the answer’s found; turn my despair around forevermore.”

Once the froth dissipated, Rush grabbed another vial and added periodic drops.

He continued muttering to himself, “Somehow I’ve got to rebuild all the dreams that the winds have scattered. From what fate has shattered I’ll retrieve what mattered!”

His despair deepened and his actions became more frantic as he rushed to complete the serum. The ratio he had worked out was certain to be the final answer that would free him from Gold once and for all. He was sure of it.

“Somehow I’ve got to go on till the evil has been defeated; till my work’s completed. I will _not_ be cheated!”

One more final pour, and the serum sat in front of him, whole and completed. He picked it up, only hesitating for a moment before throwing his head back and eagerly swallowing it. The glass beaker rattled against his worktop as he brought it down and he looked up despairingly as he cried out.

“God, you must help me carry on when it seems all hope has gone! I have _got to_ carry on!”


	9. Chapter 9

Terrorised by what he had seen, Jefferson quickly made his way to the Red Rat to deliver Rush’s note. He figured that he should get the business over with as soon as he could.

As he walked in, he was haunted by the ghosts of himself and his friend sitting in front of the cabaret stage, joyously taking in the one of the last tastes of being bachelors during their first visit from nearly three weeks prior. The Scarlet Spider spotted him and walked over.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” he asked with a smirk.

Jefferson cleared his throat and answered, “I need to speak to Lacey Harris.”

With his one good eye, the Scarlet Spider quickly looked him over. Then he said with a beckoning motion of his head, “Follow me.”

He brought Jefferson to a room far back in the building. The Scarlet Spider entered without knocking. Inside of the shabby room was a chest full of different clothing, a changing screen, a nightstand, a fireplace with a mantel, and a bed. Standing looking into the lazy fire was Lacey Harris.

“Lacey, you have a client,” the Scarlet Spider called before pushing Jefferson inside and shutting the door behind him.

Lacey turned around, her bright, sky-blue silk nightgown loosely tied around her undergarments: a white corset and bloomers. Jefferson’s face heated and he looked away respectfully.

“I remember you,” Lacey remarked happily. “You’re Nicholas’s friend, aren’t you? He told me you dragged him here for his bachelor party two and a half weeks ago.” She sat down on the side of the bed closest to him and asked, “What can I do for you tonight?”

She reached out for his necktie but Jefferson grabbed her hand and quickly corrected, “I’m not a client. I’ve come to deliver you something.” He passed over the envelope, uncomfortably looking around the room so as to avoid looking at her.

“It’s from Nicholas,” he continued, and she looked up at him with a small gasp. “He asked me to deliver that to you tonight.”

The envelope in her hands, Lacey gazed at it in wonder. She looked up at Jefferson and said genuinely, “Thank you.” She stood up to gently kiss him on the cheek. Jefferson nodded and bid her goodnight before leaving and closing the door behind him.

For a long time Lacey sat on the edge of the bed, turning the envelope over in her hands and touching her name written in Rush’s neat handwriting. She thought of him, all of the memories she had of him coming to her once again. Her heart was filled with insurmountable joy and love. A wide smile broke out and she opened the envelope. The letter read:

    _Dearest Lacey,_  
 _I regret more than I can ever express that my private affairs prevent me from ever seeing you again. I have found in you a tender and loving light during these past dark days. I hope you will accept the enclosed as a small repayment for the lesson you have taught me. Leave this place, I beg you, and begin again, secure in the knowledge that I will never forget you._  
                    _Nicholas Rush_

Lacey laughed happily and wiped the tears that had fallen. She quickly thumbed through the money he had left her. After living half of her life trapped in the suffocating dregs of the lowest part of London, she was finally free. The crushing weight on her shoulders lifted and she could breathe again. The air smelled that much cleaner and the world looked that much brighter.

She held the letter against her chest, closed her eyes, and whispered, “A new life... What I wouldn’t give to have a new life? A new chance; one that maybe has...” She looked at the letter in her hands. “...a touch of romance.“

She stood and walked to the window. The rain had started to pour at midnight, yet as dreary as it was, Lacey was still bursting with light.

“A new world! There’s one thing I want to ask of you, World: once, before it’s time to say ‘adieu,’ World, give me one sweet chance to prove the cynics wrong! More and more I’m sure as I go through life, just to play the game, to pursue life, to share its treasures, and to belong: that’s what I’ve been here for all along! Each day’s a brand new life!”

Setting the money and letter on the fireplace mantel, Lacey quickly started to pack her chest of clothes to leave that night. While she was working, a wide smile on her face, the door behind her creaked open.

“Dearest Lacey,” said a voice.

Lacey raised her head slowly, her bright dreams being snuffed out just as soon as they had been lit. She turned around to face her visitor.

“Gold,” she acknowledged, unsteadily turning around to finish packing her belongings. Gold was leaning against the door frame, both hands resting on his cane.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you Lacey?” he inquired threateningly as he stepped into the room. Lacey stayed quiet.

“You wouldn’t think of leaving town without saying goodbye, would you?” he further asked. Lacey again refused to answer.

Gold reached out and grabbed her wrist tightly as he demanded, “Would you!?”

“No!” Lacey answered quickly and fearfully. Muttering to himself, Gold let go of her arm and walked to the fireplace. He spotted the money and letter on the mantle and picked them up. Quickly fingering through the money, he pocketed it and read through the letter.

“‘Leave this place, I beg you’?” he laughed. “You haven’t had a visit from the doctor, have you?”

Lacey turned to look at him. “You know Nicholas?”

“Yes. We’re old friends, him and I. Very close. We share everything,” he answered, holding her gaze. He dropped the letter—it fell dangerously close to the fire—and moved over to the bed. Kneeling on the bed, he watched as Lacey quickly saved the paper from the flame and he cooed.

“Come here, my dear,” he soothed affectionately. Lacey held the letter tightly in her hands, furiously looking up at Gold, who patted the area of the bed in front of him and held his arms out.

“You really are as dark as people say you are,” she remarked spitefully.

“Darker, dearie,” he answered. “Much darker.”

Gold patted the bed once more and Lacey resentfully climbed on as well, seating herself between his knees. Gold swept her hair off of her shoulder and nosed her bare neck, humming quietly in satisfaction.

“Sympathy, tenderness,” he mumbled under his breath, “warm as the summer offer me their embrace.”

Slowly, he lulled Lacey into a trance as he ran his hands up and down her arms. She leaned back against him and shut her eyes.

“Friendliness, gentleness: strangers to my life.” As he held her, he slipped one hand into his coat and slowly pulled out a long, wavy dagger, holding the handle tightly. “They are there in his face.”

In a moment, he dug the dagger into Lacey’s back. She gasped loudly and then shouted in pain. As he pulled the dagger out, she collapsed off of the bed and onto the floor. Gold watched from atop the bed as she crawled desperately to the door. He reached over the foot of the bed, grabbed Lacey’s hair on the back of her head, and pulled her upright. She sputtered painfully, and in one motion, Gold slit her throat and let her fall to the ground.

Gold got off of the bed, looked at her dead form for a moment—the bloodied letter still in her hand—left the room, and closed the door behind him. He passed through the main room in the Red Rat and the workers gasped when they saw him. They passed whispers between each other, pointing out the blood covering the man’s vest and shirt and parting around him as he walked through them, his laugh resonating as he left.


	10. Chapter 10

If, at the beginning of his journey in seeking freedom from man’s cruelty, greed, and guilt, Rush had known that his passion would have resulted in spilt blood, lost lives, and his entire life being ruined, he would never have started out at all. As Gold walked back to his lab, Rush thought back to the countless warnings that the people around him had given him. Blinded by his own desires, Rush had ignored their cautions and pushed forward, and now, he knew, he must be the one to set things right.

Inside of the cage that was the mind of Robert Gold, Rush thought to himself, “It’s over now, I know inside. No one will ever know the sorry tale of Robert Gold and those who died... no one must ever know. They’d only see the tragedy; they’d not see my intent. The shadow of Gold’s evil will forever kill the good that I had meant.” He paused.

“Am I a good man?” he wondered honestly. “Am I a bad man? It’s such a fine line between a good man and a bad man.”

One step into the laboratory and Rush fought to regain control over Gold.When he succeeded and resurfaced, he quickly shed his bloody coat and began mixing a new potion.

 _This time_ , he thought. _This time..._

“Lost in the darkness, silence surrounds you,” Rush narrated to his counterpart softly. “Once there was morning, now: endless night. I will find the answer. I’ll never desert you. I promise you this till the day that I—“

Mid-pour, Gold regained control and threw the vial against the wall. It shattered and the liquid splattered against the wall.

Gold growled to Rush, “Do you really think that I would ever let you go? Do you think I’d ever set you free!? If you do, I’m sad to say, it simply isn’t so. You will never get away from me!”

Rush answered back, turning to fetch a bag of herbs to add to the mix. “All that you are is a face in the mirror! I close my eyes and you disappear.”

Gold ripped the bag and let the contents fall on the counter to stop Rush from pouring it in. “I’m what you face when you face in the mirror! Long as you live I will still be here.”

Scooping the herbs off of the counter and into his hand, Rush poured it into the beaker. “All that you are is the end of a nightmare. All that you are is a dying scream. After tonight, I shall end this demon dream!” He picked up another vial to add, but Gold brought it back down on the countertop. It rattled dangerously, but didn’t break.

“This is not a dream, my friend, and it will never end. This one is the nightmare that goes on! Gold is here to stay, no matter what you may pretend! And he’ll flourish long after you’re gone!”

Walking to the mirror on the wall, Rush spoke to his partner, whom he saw in the side of his face where his hair was falling out of his ponytail. “Soon you will die and my silence will hide you. You cannot choose but to lose control!”

His body twitched and Gold resurfaced. He spoke into the mirror back at Rush. “You can’t control me! I live deep inside you! Each day you’ll feel me devour your soul!”

Rush walked back to his worktable and picked up the vial again to quickly add it. “I don’t need you to survive like you need me. I’ll become whole as you dance with death! And I’ll rejoice as you breath your final breath!”

Gold laughed heartily. He raised his fist and threw a forceful punch to Rush’s jaw—effectively knocking them both to the floor—and stood over him, declaring, “Oh, I’ll live on forever inside you!”

“No!” Rush cried.

“With Satan himself by my side!”

“ _No_!” he wailed.

Gold wrapped his hands around his and Rush’s neck, squeezing to choke him, as Rush clawed at his own hands. Gold snarled maliciously, “And I’ll show the world that tonight and forever: they’ll never be able to separate Rush from Gold!”

As Gold tightened his grip, Rush closed his hand and punched himself and his rival in the face, forcing Gold to lose his hold on Rush. The doctor grabbed the edge of his worktable and pulled himself up, sputtering, “Can’t you see it’s over now? It’s time to die!”

He twitched and turned his head, his hair falling in his face as Gold countered, “No, not I. Only you!”

Rush turned back to him and said, “If I die, you’ll die, too!”

“You’ll die in me. I’ll be you!”

Rush slammed his fists on the table. “Damn you, Gold! Set me free!”

“Can’t you see? You _are_ me!”

“No!” Rush screamed furiously. “Deep inside—“

“I am you! You are Gold!”

Rush froze, his eyes stared off in horror. Shaking his head, he said, “No, _never_.”

“Yes, _forever_!”

“Damn you, Gold,” Rush muttered. “Take all your evil deeds and rot in hell!”

Gold growled, “I’ll see you there, _Rush_.”

Picking up his finished serum, Rush declared, “Never!” and drank the contents in one gulp. He then shouted painfully and fell to the floor, unconscious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a beast at the door  
> And he’s wild and free  
> But we don’t let him in  
> Cause we don’t want to see  
> What is lurking right behind the facade
> 
> Man is not one, but two  
> He is evil and good  
> And he walks the fine line  
> That he’d cross if he could  
> He’s just waiting  
> \- Facade (Reprise 4), Jekyll and Hyde - The Musical

 

As Jefferson emerged from the carriage that had arrived at the church, he smiled and tipped his top hat when we spotted Sir Maurice standing outside dressed in his Sunday best. The day had finally come for lovers Nicholas Rush and Belle French were to be wed. The venue was small, but many of the guests—including one Killian Jones, who wore an unrelenting glower—were just arriving as Jefferson and Sir Maurice spoke.

“Have you heard word from Nicholas?” asked Sir Maurice.

“He has given up on his quest of ‘pursuing the truth,’ as he would have phrased it. I believe it was the best choice for him, but unfortunately, his father is still condemned to the asylum. Perhaps another day and another time he will find a way to save him.”

“Yes, it seems Nicholas has made a remarkable recovery over the past week. I was worried that his experiment had done its worst to him. I couldn’t be more delighted to be wrong. It seems the doctor had returned at the sound of wedding bells.”

Jefferson smiled. He excused himself and entered the church, immediately spotting his friend who, despite his anxious jitteriness and endless fixing of the white rose on his lapel, wore a constant smile. As Rush’s first choice for groomsman, Jefferson took his place next to his friend.

The choral music began and the guests stood up. Rush turned to look at his bride, his expression melting as he saw her walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. The white dress she wore seemed to glow—as did her face behind her tulle veil. Belle and her father stopped as they approached the altar and turned to each other. Sir Maurice lifted the bride’s veil delicately, hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek. He turned to Rush with a smile and took a step back, shaking Rush’s hand before allowing him to take his place across from Belle. They stood at a distance with beaming faces and gleaming eyes as Priest Geppetto motioned for the guests to sit.

With a joyous smile between the two partners, the priest opened his book and read, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join this man and this women in holy matrimony. If any man can show any just cause why they should not be lawfully joined together, let him speak now or else here and forever hold his peace.”

A tense silence began and Rush couldn’t help but look around. Killian Jones shifted uncomfortably, but kept his jaw clenched shut, and the other guests remained silent. Rush looked at Jefferson and reached up to touch his head as an uneasy sensation came, but any threat of Gold’s return had passed long ago and the doctor instead pushed up his glasses, straightened his jacket, and smiled widely. He turned back to Belle, who had a smile matching his.

“Please join hands,” the priest directed with a smile and a gesture; Rush and Belle gladly took each other’s hands. The priest turned to Rush. “Nicholas Rum Adam Rush,”—Rush bowed his head and laughed quietly as he looked at Belle: through her kind persistence, Belle had convinced him to keep his nickname ‘Rum’ in the vows, despite his distaste towards it—“do you take this woman, Belle Rose Colette French to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold—“

The priest stopped short as Rush began to fold over on himself and shake his head. The groom faltered backwards, almost ready to fall before catching himself with a step backwards. Jefferson went to his friend and steadied him with a hand on his back while Sir Maurice tried to pry Belle away to keep her safe.

“Nicholas? What’s wrong?” Jefferson asked alarmed.

Rush dropped Belle’s hands and stumbled backwards into his friend. Several of the guests stood in shock as they looked on.

“Oh God, not now,” Rush hissed to himself, panic stricken in his voice as he fell to his knees. “What now? Help me, somehow! Please take the pain away!”

He leaned onto his shaking hands and told himself, “Feel it fill me. This will kill me!” He stood up unevenly and looked at Belle before pleading, “Please, God, will me somehow to fight, I pray!”

One attempted step forward and Rush faltered in a different direction. He collapsed into Killian Jones and grabbed his jacket desperately, crying to the wide-eyed man, “Help me! Oh, God, have mercy!” He turned again towards Belle after stumbling backwards and continued begging, “Don’t let her see!” Rush stepped towards Belle and collapsed forwards, his hand reaching out for her. “Not on our wedding day!” he sobbed miserably.

Rush rolled onto his back and his breathing stopped. The guests stared horridly on as Killian took a small step forward. Shortly glancing at Belle and her father, he quickly kneeled at the body and pressed his ear to Rush’s chest. After several seconds, Killian straightened out, looked at Rush’s lifeless body for a moment, and then turned to Belle with a look of shock and horror.

When he turned back towards Rush, the man sprung to life and wrapped his hand around Killian’s neck, squeezing tightly as he stood to his feet. The company screamed in terror.

Sir Maurice stepped in front of his daughter and demanded, “Nicholas, stop this!”

The man answered, “There is no Nicholas... only Robert Gold!” His grip on Killian tightened once more before he dropped the lifeless body to the floor. When his eyes landed on Belle, he took large strides toward her. Sir Maurice stepped into his path and grabbed the man, only to be flung into the first pew. Gold approached Belle quickly, ripped her veil off, and grabbed her hair as she turned to run away from him.

He dragged her across the ground as Jefferson drew his swordstick and called warningly, “Leave her alone, Gold! She has nothing to do with you!”

As he pulled Belle up, his hand wrapping around her throat tightly, Gold threatened in turn, “Nobody touches Robert Gold! Nobody! Or she dies before God!” He looked around the venue, as if challenging someone to make a move as Belle sputtered under his grip.

“Nicholas,” she whispered, her voice loving and gentle despite being strained, “I know that it is you and you would never do anything to harm me...” She looked at Rush, hoping to remind him of the man she fell in love with. As their eyes met, Gold frowned and his brows furrowed. He threw Belle down before Rush took over again, fighting for the last bit of control over his body. Rush looked at his hands in horror, to Belle being comforted by her father, and then to Jefferson, whose swordstick was still aimed at him.

“Please, Jefferson, do it,” he asked, tears rolling down his face. “Set me free. Set us all free!”

Jefferson stood still as his mind willed him to do what his friend asked, but his body remained motionless. He choked on his words before finally answering, “No, I can’t!”

“Do it!” Rush begged.

“Why!?”

Rush stared at his friend for a moment before confessing, “Because I’m a villain... and villains don’t get happy endings.”

As Jefferson remained still, in a moment Rush had made up his mind and plunged towards Jefferson, impaling himself on Jefferson’s sword and feeling it drive through his body and out his back. He gasped and choked, hearing Belle scream along with many other gasps from the company, before looking into the face of Jefferson. His friend grabbed his arm desperately and Belle crawled to catch him as he slid off of the sword and collapsed into Belle’s lap, the blood from his wound staining her white dress. Jefferson kneeled next to Belle as her father stood at a distance. Rush gazed upward and struggled to breath, Belle’s hand pressing over his wound as she held his head in her other hand. Rush looked at her and reached up his hand to cup her cheek. Belle grabbed it quickly and held it to her heart, whispering lovingly to her groom, “You are free now. You’re with me now—“ Rush’s hand slipped out of hers and fell to the ground lifeless. Belle stared at his hand, then to his blank face. “—where you’ll always be.” Belle screamed, cried, and laid her head on Rush’s chest as she continued to sob. Jefferson, Belle, and Sir Maurice remained still, their world turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments! I really enjoyed writing this one! Keep an eye out for my next works—there are many in the making!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back and I’m so excited about this one!! Thank you all for being patient!
> 
> I, in no way, take credit for any of the quotes or characters that you’ll find, from either Once Upon a Time or either recordings of the Jekyll and Hyde soundtrack, even though I have added my own dialogue.


End file.
